The Romanov Secret
by Elysian Peace
Summary: The Russian Imperial family has a secret that they want kept hidden for all time, but in a daring move to unveil royal treachery, the secret is published in the novel The Phantom of the Opera. Please RR.
1. Chapter 1

She couldn't sleep. Everyone in the dorm around her dozed quietly as the night slowly drew close to the midnight hour. It was very dark, so she couldn't see their forms, but she knew they were dreaming. Perhaps of performing in the grand Opera House, as each hoped he or she one day would. All of the forms in this room were being trained to be ballerinas. The male dancers were down the hall, and the singers were one floor above them. The dormitories were full as usual, yet everyday a new protégé arrived.

Turning quietly in her bed, she let her gaze wander around the room that had become so familiar to her. She had been at the Opera House for over a year now, and although she had always wanted to be part of the chorus, Madame Giry had placed her in the corps, along with her little daughter Meg. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy dancing, but she had always loved singing more, ever since her father had taught her songs using his violin. But those days were gone now, and so was her father.

Her attention was suddenly drawn to the rafters as she heard a noise coming from above. Sitting up in bed, she drew the blankets closer to her as she searched the ceiling. It wasn't a loud thumping noise, like that of a worker over head, but more like a quiet whispering. Glancing around her, she realized that no one else heard the sound, as they were all still sleeping peacefully.

The sound suddenly jumped from one end of the room to the other. It had been directly over her bed and now it was coming from the far corner. Charged with both curiosity and fear, she rose from her bed to follow the whispering. It had now leaped from the corner to the dormitory door. She softly tip-toed around Meg's bed, careful not to trip over the blankets she had thrown onto the floor and headed for the door.

She was suddenly overcome with a feeling of anxiety. If she followed the whispers into the hall and was caught out of bed, she would be severely punished. Madame Giry would see to that, she was sure. Yet there was something that drew her to the whisper. She could almost hear what the voice was saying. If only she could get a little closer. Straightening her back with resolve, she pulled the door open, wincing as the hinges squeaked. She quickly turned around to look if it had disturbed anyone, and seeing that it hadn't, she walked through, pulling the door closed behind her.

The halls of the Opera house were very familiar to her, and as she followed the noise down the hall, she realized where she was being led. She had come to this place often to be with her father, and knowing that this was where the whispers wanted her to go was comforting.

The chapel had always been one of her favourite places in the opera house, save the stage of course. She usually came here alone to light a candle for her father and to say silent prayers for him to watch over her. She had only lost him recently and the pain of it was still with her. Never knowing her mother, her father had been her sole protector and had raised her single handedly until the end. They had traveled often, from court to court as her father played his violin for dignitaries in many countries and regions. There were so many things that she missed about her life before the Opera House, but it was her father she missed most.

Lighting a single candle for her departed love one, she waited for the whispers to shift. This time, however, they didn't. They had rested directly over where she was standing, yet she felt no fear now from them. Not in this place. Here, her father would protect her from the misty voices.

The whispers stayed above her, growing louder then softer, like waves upon the ocean, yet she could never understand what they were saying.

"Hello?" she whispered softly to the ceiling. She wasn't afraid of the voice, yet she was certainly intimidated.

The whispers suddenly stopped, as if her small voice had startled them. She looked around, waiting for them to start again. It seemed like an eternity had passed before she heard a single word float down from above.

"Ekaterina."

It was not many whispers at all now, but a single voice coming from above the alter. She walked toward it and sat at the base, still looking up.

"Who's there?" she asked.

"Ekaterina," was all the voice replied.

"My name is Christine," she said meekly. "Who is Ekaterina? Is that your name?"

The voice hesitated, almost as if pondering an answer. Finally, it spoke:

"You've always known who I am, I've guarded you since you were a babe. Christine may be the name you know now, but it has not always been."

"What do you mean?" she cried. "I've always been Christine. Who is it that you think I am?"

"Ekaterina."


	2. Chapter 2

Present Day

"The life of Alexander II of Russia was marked by several key political changes. A few of the important ones that we'll discuss are the emancipation of the serfs and his abolishment of capital punishment."

Dianna fought to keep her eyes open and her ears alert. She had been sitting in the lecture hall for over an hour, listening to Dr. Arthur Ramsey drone on about Russian history. It wasn't that she didn't love history, in fact, she found it fascinating, but the professor was horrid. He was a knowledgeable man, but couldn't speak in public to save his life.

She could feel her head slowly drop toward the desk, yet it seemed pointless to stop it. She jerked when the person beside her elbowed her back awake.

"Dianna, Ramsey's taking on interns to help him with a research project this summer. Did you hear him just now?"

Jane had been her closest companion since arriving at the American University of Paris. They had roomed together their first year and were pleasantly surprised to find out that not only were they both history majors, but they were also both Canadian.

"What?" Dianna asked, sleepily.

"You said you wanted a summer job in France this year instead of going back home, so why don't you apply?"

When she lifted her head, she realized that Ramsey was indeed talking about a summer internship, and how to apply for it. He had scribbled several job descriptions down on the overhead, and immediately Dianna became interested when she read that some travel might be required.

"Jane, what did he say he was researching?" Dianna was whispering so as not to disturb the class.

"I'm not sure," Jane whispered back, "but I know it has something to do with the Romanovs."

Dianna groaned. Of course it was. Dr. Arthur Ramsey, although quite young for a professor, had an unabashed love for all things old, but his specialty was Russian history under the rule of the Romanovs. In fact, Dianna had once heard that he was one of the leading historians of the dynasty.

"The pay is minimum," Dianna heard him say. "However, the rewards, hopefully, will be far greater than monetary gain. We will be investigating the imperial family, mainly Alexander II and his wife, Maria Alexandrovna, in relation to a certain published novel that many of you will be familiar with. I won't go into details right now, but if you want more information, please come and see me in my office after class."

Dianna and Jane looked at one another. It might actually be an interesting project to work on. Dianna had a fondness for books, and she assumed that the one they would be studying would be a great literary piece from the period. If nothing else, she'd probably be able to pick it up from the bookstore for free if she got the internship.

"Well, are you going to apply?" Jane asked once class was dismissed.

"I don't know."

Dianna gathered all her books and shoved them into her pack. She didn't have class for another hour, and she knew Jane would convince her to go and speak to Ramsey during that time.

"I don't see why not," Jane said. "I mean, if Mom and Dad let me stay here for the summer, I think they'd be especially warm to the idea if I were doing something academic. You know, to make the cost of everything worth it."

Dianna climbed the stairs out of the lecture room and waited for Jane to meet her at the top. Her friend wasn't in the best of shape, having a few extra pounds that slowed her down. But her pretty face and friendly personality made up for her weight and Dianna considered her one of the most beautiful people she had ever known.

"Dianna, seriously," Jane said once she reached the top. "You have to go talk to Ramsey. You'll never get another opportunity like this. I have another class right now, but if I hear that you didn't see him, I'm going to be really mad at you."

"Okay, okay," Dianna laughed. "I'll go see him right now. Can I at least give him time to get to his office?"

Jane smiled and shook her head. "No, you want front of the line."

"Get out of here, you'll be late for your class. Don't forget, movie night at my place tonight."

"Yeah, I remember. See you later!"

-------------------------------

Dianna softly knocked on the door.

"Come in."

She pushed the door open to the office and saw that Dr. Ramsey was sitting behind his desk, glasses pushed to the end of his nose while he was staring down through the bifocals at his computer screen. Despite the glasses, he was a handsome man, and any girl in his classes would attest to that. Dianna figured him to be about thirty years old, but some figured him to be quite a bit younger. She didn't see how, considering it took a lot of years of schooling to achieve a PhD, as well as a position at a prestigious university. But, no matter his age, Dianna still felt a little intimidated by him, not only because of his looks, but also because of his academic credentials.

"How can I help you?" he asked amiably.

"Well, Sir, I'm in your fourth year Eastern European history class and I was interested in applying for the internship you spoke about today."

When she said this, Ramsey removed his gaze from the computer screen to look directly at her. Removing his glasses, he sat back in his chair and shuffled a few pieces of paper around on his desk.

"I see. Well, that's fantastic. Okay, here is an application form to take with you, and just return it to me whenever it's convenient." He handed her over a single sheet of paper that had questions on both sides of it. After scanning the list quickly, Dianna knew that she could do this in five minutes or less.

"Sir, if you wouldn't mind, can I just fill it out here and give it to you? I promise not to take up too much of your time."

Ramsey smiled. "Of course. If you want, you can take a seat in that chair in the corner. Take a book and use it to write on if you wish, just make sure you don't actually write on the book. I won't be very happy."

She could see that he was joking. Thanking him, she crossed the fairly large office to the chair he mentioned, sat down, and began writing. They weren't difficult questions, and many were easily answered with one word. In fact, she found that the application was a little too simple. Wouldn't a man who was hiring a research assistant be a little more delving than this?

"Excuse me, Miss?"

Dianna looked up when Ramsey spoke to her.

"It's Dianna Timperly, Sir," she informed him.

He nodded. "Dianna, I have a question for you. Can you take a look at these two photographs and tell me what you see?"

Dianna set her application form aside and walked over to where he was holding out the two photos. Looking at one of them, she realized it was a blown up picture from her textbook of Maria Alexandrovna. The other one, although different in little ways, such as dress and surroundings, looked like it contained the same woman.

"The photos are of Maria Alexandrovna, wife to Alexander II, empress of all Russia," Dianna answered.

"Very good," Ramsey said. "But, unfortunately, only one of the photos is of the empress."

Dianna was confused. It looked like the same woman. Perhaps he was just playing a trick on her.

"Are you sure, Sir? They look the same to me."

He held the photos closer. "Take a better look. You'll see that, although they do look quite a bit alike, there are subtle differences, like the shape of their noses, and the fullness of their lips."

"Perhaps it is one of the grand duchesses?"

Ramsey shook his head. "The daughters inherited the Romanov appearance from their father. No, this woman is someone else."

"But who?"

He grinned widely. "I don't know. That's what I want to find out."


	3. Chapter 3

"Change of plans."

Jane looked up from her spot on the couch in front of the television.

"What? What sort of plan. We've been planning this movie night for ages."

Dianna flumped herself down on the couch beside her friend and removed her jacket. She then reached into her pack and pulled out two rented movies and set them on the coffee table. Jane leaned forward to pick up the movies and examined them.

"They're both 'The Phantom of the Opera.' Why did you get two of the same movie?"

"Ugh, because when I rented the first one, which only has English subtitles, I didn't know they had a full English copy there. They wouldn't let me exchange them."

"Well, that's kind of dumb, isn't it? I mean—"

"Jane, that's not the point. What you should be asking is why I rented them."

Jane sat up from her spot.

"Okay," she began. "Why?"

Dianna could hardly contain her excitement. "Dr. Ramsey hired me today!"

"What!? Already? What did you do? I mean…it wasn't sexual was it?" She laughed as Dianna smacked in the face with a pillow, causing her popcorn bowl to tumble to the floor.

"No, nothing like that!" Dianna laughed. "He said that I had asked him the right questions about the job, and that I showed the appropriate interest in his research project."

"Which is what?" Jane asked, waiting for patiently for the outcome of the entire conversation.

"This," she answered, taking the two movies from Jane and holding them up. "We're researching 'The Phantom of the Opera.'"

Dianna held her breath while she waited for Jane's response.

Finally, Jane spoke.

"The movie?"

Dianna growled with mock frustration. "No, not the movie, dummy, the entire story, beginning with the book. He's arguing that the characters are loosely based on actual people. And one of those people may be connected somehow with the last Russian Imperial family."

In fact, Dr. Ramsey was setting out to prove the existence of another line of Romanovs, spun off from Maria Alexandrovna. He intended to prove that the mystery woman in the photo he had shown her was actually her illegitimate daughter. Somehow, and Dianna wasn't sure yet how, he had reason to believe that this girl was fictionalized as the character Christine in 'The Phantom of the Opera,' and that, in his own way, Gaston Leroux was trying to 'out' the girl by publishing the novel first in a newspaper.

Jane sat silently as Dianna explained all of this to her. After she was finished, Jane sat and contemplated all she had said. Finally, she spoke.

"Dianna, don't get mad at me or anything, but this all sounds ridiculous. I mean, how is he going to prove all of this?"

In one statement, Jane had deflated Dianna's excitement. Sighing, she sat back in the couch.

"I don't know, to be honest. He says he has a lead, but I don't know what that is yet."

"How would he know Leroux was trying expose the Romanovs?"

"I don't know."

Jane pressed on. "I mean, where did all of these magical connections come from?"

"I don't know."

"And what about historical fact? Wouldn't a daughter of Maria Alexandrovna, illegitimate or not, be on record somewhere?"

"Jane, I don't know!" Dianna yelled. She glared at her friend, who was sitting quietly beside her. She knew that Jane never questioned anything she did without reason, but somehow, she knew that whatever Dr. Ramsey was on to, it would be big if he could prove it. After a few minutes, and regaining her composure, she continued. "I don't know any of these things, but that's what we're doing, isn't it? We're researching all of this, and I want you to know that I believe he knows exactly what he's doing. All he's given me right now is his hypothesis, and now we need to find the facts to prove it."

Jane sat quietly for a moment. "You're right, I apologize. I mean, even if you can't prove it, this summer will definitely be interesting, won't it?"

The twinkle in Dianna's eyes returned. "You're definitely right about that. And, it's only two weeks away."


	4. Chapter 4

"So, are those photos actually originals?"

Dianna had been in his office for about an hour now, helping him sort through the research he had already collected before classes had ended for the year. It was her first day, but already she felt at ease around the man. He was a little staunchy and guarded, but a friendly man nonetheless.

"They are indeed. It took quite a while to find a good photo of both of the women. The Tsarina's wasn't that difficult, you only have to open any history book that deals with the Romanov's to find one. The photo of Ekaterina, however, I had to retrieve from the Grand Duchess' great-granddaughter-in-law."

Dianna raised her eyes in surprise.

"There is still a living line of Romanov's?"

"Oh yes, living right here in Paris. The Chagny family is the descendants of Ekaterina."

Chagny. The name from the book.

"Is that your starting place? I mean, did you just happen to watch the movie and recognize the name from the phone book or something?"

"No," he said. Abruptly, he stood up from his chair and walked to the other end of the office. She saw that he was going over to a bookcase, where he retrieved two books. He returned, plopping the novels on the desk.

"Parisians are well versed in the tales of their two most notorious monsters. Both, by happenstance, dwell in perhaps the two most well known buildings in the whole city. The first is Quasimoto, invented by Victor Hugo. The second is Erik, or the Phantom of the Opera, that Gaston Leroux famously wrote about."

"Yes, but—"

"Wait!" This was the first time he had really raised his voice at her, and it slightly unnerved her. However, he appeared to be in a passion now, sharing his most beloved secret with her, and yet, she had the feeling that he was only partly speaking to her. She guessed that he simply loved to hear himself talk about that which he was so obsessed.

"My connection," he continued, "was a little more complex than that. I was able to get a copy of a list of employees that worked for the royal family during Tsar Alexander II's rule. Don't ask how, my methods walked a fine line between legal and criminal. Anyhow, as I was reading the list, trying to discern names that could've possibly had a hand in the future outcome of the empire, I ran across a name that seemed so out of place. The man was a part of the Imperial orchestra, yet his name was not Russian, like all the others. It was Swedish."

"Swedish? But how—"

He waved her question away.

"The name I found was Gustav Daae."

-----------------------------------------------

The subway car they were riding in slowly rocked back and forth, and Dianna could feel her eyes start to close. Every stop, however, jolted her back awake, as she had a fear that Dr. Ramsey would leave the train without her, and she would be lost in the Paris underground for hours. It was a silly fear, she knew, but a present one nonetheless.

Turning her head away from the window and the gloomy tunnel outside the train, she glanced around the car. There were a wide variety of people, yet she had noticed that the more eccentric people had gradually left the train the further away from the city center they traveled. She knew that they were now on la linge huit, heading southwest out of the city. She knew eventually the line had to end somewhere, but after that, she had no idea what was next.

The people left on the train looked mostly like commuters or students. Dianna quickly checked her watch, and she saw that it was indeed nearing rush hour. The car wasn't that full at the moment, but she knew that on it's return trip, it would be packed like a cattle car. She said a prayer of thanks for the small favour. She wasn't comfortable in confined quarters.

Bored, and sick of the silence, Dianna turned to Dr. Ramsey, who was staring ahead with a blank gaze.

"Dr. Ramsey? Where are we going?" she asked tentatively. Her voice seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he had been in. He took his glasses off his face, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Replacing the spectacles, he then opened his briefcase, and pulled out an old photo of a mansion.

"We are going here," he said cryptically.

"Where is that?"

"This, Miss Timperley, is the ancestral home of the Chagnys. The only surviving person left now lives there, a widow by the name of Françoise de Chagny. The house is on the outskirts of a town called Nangis. Once we get off the subway, we'll have to taxi it the rest of the way. Shouldn't take more than fifteen minutes."

Chagny. The name from the story. Dianna took the picture from Dr. Ramsey's hand and looked more closely at it. Was she looking at an estate that actually existed outside of a well-written, yet still very fictional, novel?

She handed the photo back to him, and he gently stuffed it back into pocket in his briefcase. Dianna noticed that he was nervously shaking his leg to a quick, inaudible tune, and she smiled when he became acutely aware of her gaze and stopped.

"Sorry, I'm a little anxious," he apologized.

"Why are you anxious?"

"I am resting my career on the insight this woman may have toward what I've pieced together so far. If she has photos, or journals from her husband's family, it could change everything. Not only will it bring new light to Leroux's writing, but it'll firmly establish another branch of Russian royalty. It could be groundbreaking."

Dianna considered his words. This man, who could be jeopardizing his scholastic career by researching a project that many would consider bogus, may now have the power to change not only the past, but also the future. He could be the next Howard Carter or Robert Ballard. She chided herself on the poor comparisons, but although he was not making a huge physical discovery, the political implications went far and beyond what Carter and Ballard had done.

The voice of the subway conductor crackled over the speakers, announcing in French that they had come to the end of the line. Of course, the seven years of core French Dianna had learned in school did not help her a bit in translating. She knew because Dr. Ramsey had stood from his seat and motioned to her that it was time to go. Grabbing the backpack she had brought with her, Dianna flipped it over her shoulders, and exited the car. Ramsey stepped off right behind her, pulling on his brown leather jacket as he went. Even though it was the beginning of May, the nights still became cool and Dianna mentally kicked herself for not thinking ahead. Of course, she hadn't known she would be making this trek.

Following him up the stairs, she struggled at the top from the weight of her backpack. Dr. Ramsey looked back and saw that she was out of breath. Grabbing the bag from her, he put the straps over his own shoulders, relieving her of the burden. It was a mixed blessing if anything. It was heavy, but it was the only thing keeping her warm. She decided that she would allow him to play gallant hero for a while, just to keep on his good side.

"So where now, Dr. Ramsey?" They were still at the top of the stairs, and she saw him scanning the traffic, as if looking for something particular.

"Call me just Ramsey, like everyone else," he said, more as a demand than a request. "I called ahead to a taxi company to have a car meet me here. Oh, there it is now. Come on."

The little driver rushed out of the vehicle, apologizing profusely for being late.

"Je suis désolé! Pardonne moi." The man opened the backseat door for them, and after being motioned in by Ramsey, she entered first, scooting over to let him in. The driver climbed back into the front, and looked over his shoulder.

"A où?"

"Nangis, s'il vous plait."

The little car took off at high speed. Dianna squeezed the door handle in fright, positive that they were going to be in an accident. The city congestion was incredible. They were far outside of the downtown core of the city, yet the streets were still packed with every make of car imaginable. It was really interesting to see the British cars mixed in with the others, the poor drivers seated on the wrong side to see properly what was going on. After about five minutes, the crowds thinned, and Dianna got her first glimpse of pastureland. The driver also seemed to relax his hurried pace, and for the first time, Dianna sat back in the seat.

"So," she began slowly. "Why exactly is it that you hired me?"

"I told you before. You just showed the appropriate interest in the job," he said, looking away from her out the window as he spoke.

"Is that all?" she pressed. "I mean, I'm only an undergrad student. Surely a master's candidate would have been more suitable."

There was a long pause before Ramsey spoke.

"You are here because I want you here," he said softly. Dianna gaped at his response. Did that mean what she thought that meant? He was nearly ten years older than she was.

"What?" she asked, unsure whether she wanted clarification or not. It was just the first word that popped out of her mouth.

"Well," he began. "I'm not quite sure that a student of higher learning would've participated in this research project, I'm afraid. You see, this is going to be quite a challenge for the both of us, and even if we gather hard empirical evidence, many still will not accept our findings."

His answer was not what she expected. She wasn't even sure if that was the answer she wanted. She had quickly considered the alternative, and had felt the presence of little butterflies in her stomach for about ten seconds before he stomped on them.

He glanced her way, but when her eyes met his, he quickly averted them back to the window. Dianna felt the twin feelings of smugness and excitement. He had said it all in one look.

He wanted more than just a research assistant.


	5. Chapter 5

(Excuse the French in this chapter. I don't actually speak French, so it's probably not completely correct.)

Dianna and Ramsey reached the estate about fifteen minutes later, and were both awed by the rolling expanse of it. She estimated that the lane leading up to the main entrance of the house was as long her entire street back in Toronto. The drive was lined with gorgeous fruit trees that were in the full blossom of spring. It was a veritable flower downpour as they drove under them, a slight breeze blowing the delicate petals from their branches. Dianna had never seen anything as beautiful.

The house itself must have been built during the reign of Louis XVI, or even before then. The architecture was magnificent, with reliefs decorating the grand arches that framed the windows and doors. Dianna had never seen a singular home as large as this, yet it didn't have quite the same feel as a regular home would. It felt somewhat colder and more desolate. Even from the outside, Dianna knew that there were no cozy nooks to be found in the building.

After the awkwardness of the car ride, she was ready to get out and stretch her legs. She didn't bring up the topic again, and she could see that Ramsey didn't want to talk about it either. But neither could deny it, nor could they hide their feelings away forever. She wasn't sure when she realized that she was attracted to him. Probably the first class she had ever had with him. It was his eyes, she decided. There was no getting past them. What his attraction to her was, she had no idea. If it ever went somewhere, she would have to make sure to ask.

Ramsey climbed out the car first, and quickly jogged to the other side to open the door for Dianna. She thanked him, and then turned from the car to look up at the house. It was definitely built for the rich and powerful. The thought of being on the Chagny estate was fascinating for her. This could be the place where Raoul, or his real-life counterpart, had lived. This could be the place that he sheltered his new young bride away from the monster hiding in the depths of the opera house. The thought of it all made her anxious to get inside and meet the widow of the last remaining Chagny.

Ramsey led the way up the marble steps, and rang the doorbell. He stuffed his hands inside his pockets, and began whistling a tune Dianna hadn't heard before. It must have been an unconscious action, because when he caught her looking at him with an amused look on her face, he immediately stopped, and cleared his throat in embarrassment.

"No, please, continue, you do it very well," Dianna said, almost mockingly.

He didn't reply, just turned away from her and stared at the large oak door. She didn't know what was running through this man's head at all. One minute, he seemed to be on the verge of cracking a joke, and the next, he was so sullen that you barely noticed him. And every time he changed his mannerisms, it drew Dianna in even more, trying to figure out how to unravel the enigma surrounding him. So far, she had had no luck.

Finally, the door swung open, and an older man dressed in black tails opened the door. His watery eyes passed between the two people standing on the stoop, as if trying to decide if they belong there or not.

"Bonjour, peux-je vous aider?" he said. Dianna had no idea what he had said. Ramsey had no trouble following him, however, probably from the years he had spent teaching here in France.

"Oui, Mme Chagny nous prévoit. L'informer de notre arrivée, s'il vous plaît."

"Bien sûr. Attendre ici," the butler nodded his head, and walked into the house.

"What's going on?" Dianna felt completely lost.

"I told him we were here to see Mme Chagny. He said to wait here."

"Oh." Dianna stepped a little farther into the open doorway, just to get a peek at the interior of the house. It definitely matched the grandeur of the outside. She probably could fit her entire house into the main room where they were standing. It was decorated all in marble, and it reminded her a lot of the inside of the Supreme Court of Canada building she had seen on a high school history trip to Ottawa. It was very sparse in the way of decorations, completely outfitted in marble, and held several dull tapestries on the wall. The only thing in the room that gave it lighter feel was the ornate crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room. The tiny pieces were so intricately designed that Dianna found herself staring at it, mesmerized by the facets of colour it gave off.

"C'est très beau, non? C'est une récréation de l'Opéra de Paris. L'arrière grand-mère de mon mari avait l'a commandé. Personne sait pourquoi qu'elle a choisi de garder la tragédie vivante. Quelques-uns disent c'est un rappel de l'amour qu'elle a nié."

A fragile looking lady appeared in the hall, apparently coming in from a side door. She had startled Dianna, who had still been looking up at the chandelier. The woman looked to be around seventy-five or so, but she still had a fire about her that made Dianna smile. She relied on a beautifully crafted cane to walk, and Dianna was astounded to see that the shaft was encrusted with a variety of valuable gems. Man, these people know how to live, she thought to herself.

Ramsey walked up to the woman, and grasped her outstretched hand in welcome. He was at least a foot and a half taller than the woman, so he had to bend significantly in order to kiss both her cheeks.

"Cela, parmi les autres, est quelque chose que nous voulons découvrir, Mme Chagny. Merci pour moi permets d'est venu ici aujourd'hui," Ramsey answered. "Let me introduce Miss Dianna Timperley. You'll have to forgive her, Madame, but she does not speak French." Dianna strode up beside Ramsey, and grasped the lady's hand like he had done moments before. The woman checked her up and down, and Dianna suddenly felt very exposed, although she wasn't sure why. Seemingly satisfied, the woman smiled, and began to speak in English.

"Welcome to my home, Miss Timperley. I was just saying to Dr. Ramsey that the chandelier you were admiring moments before was commissioned by my late husband's great-grandmother." She lifted her cane a few inches off the floor, and motioned upwards toward it. Dianna followed the motioned with her eyes, and was once again dazzled by the sparkling crystal.

"It's so beautiful, Madame, I'm sure there isn't another in the world like it," Dianna said.

She frowned when Madame Chagny and Ramsey exchanged a knowing look, accompanied by a small smile to each other.

"I also mentioned that it was an exact replica of the chandelier that was displayed in the Paris Opera. No one knows why she would have done this, except maybe as a reminder of the love she denied."

"Do you mean to tell me that the story of the chandelier is true? That…that the phantom is true?" Dianna was shocked. She felt as if she was rooted in place, and felt helpless when Mme Chagny simply smiled at her, and started off into another room. Ramsey, who followed the woman, quickly glanced back and motioned for Dianna to catch up.

Tromping over to the pair, Dianna couldn't help but stare back up at the chandelier for the last time. Who would've ever guessed?

The room that Mme Chagny led them into was what appeared to have once been her husband's study. The room was dressed in dark shades, greens, ambers, and burgundys, to offset the particularly wooden feel to the room. The walls were completely paneled, and decorated with large portraits of what Dianna deemed to be Chagny ancestors. She made a mental note to study the paintings further when she had more time. Mme Chagny led them to a leather chesterfield that faced a glowing hearth, and told them to make themselves comfortable. When they did just that, she retreated to a nearby bookcase and retrieved a selection off the shelf. Returning, she sat in an adjacent chair, which looked as if it would be easier for her to get out of. She handed the book to Ramsey.

"Is this it?" he asked.

"Oui. The original transcript, like I promised. I really can't condone the use of it in any published format, Dr. Ramsey, but I would like someone else besides me to know the truth." Mme Chagny sounded almost wistful as she spoke. Dianna realized it must have taken Ramsey a lot of convincing to get her to part with whatever treasure he was now holding.

"I understand, Mme Chagny, you have my word. And Dianna's," he added, nodding toward her.

"Oh, yes, me too," she answered quickly, recovering from being thrown off guard. I guess this means that he's going to let me look at whatever it is, Dianna thought to herself.

Ramsey brought the book into the light, and Dianna could see that it was very old indeed. It appeared to have it's original leather binding, and the page ends were tattered and frayed. He opened the book to check the contents, and she saw that it was not typed as she expected, but handwritten. He flipped the cover over again, and Dianna studied the words printed there.

"L'Ingénue de l'Opéra, par Gaston Leroux," she whispered.

"This," Ramsey said, giving the book a tiny shake for emphasis, "is the untold, true account of Christine Daae's life, by none other than the man who dared to fictionalize her."


	6. Chapter 6

(First, I want to apologize for the poor formatting in a few of the previous chapters. I tried to include some visual breaks, but they didn't appear, making the story seem really jumpy for no reason. I went through and fixed them all, so there shouldn't be any more problems. Enjoy!)

"So, what you are telling me, is that Leroux wrote this book first, a TRUE account of Christine Daae, but then was forced to fictionalize it when her son refused to have it published?"

Dianna was now holding the mysterious book. She ran her fingers gently over the rough cover, unsure of what treasures it held.

"Sort of," Ramsey said. "After several conversations with Mme Chagny, it was established that this book existed, although she didn't know it's historical value."

"It's true," Mme Chagny interjected. "I myself had never opened the book, only knew of its existence. How Monsieur Leroux knew so many details about the woman's life, one will never know, unless he mentions it in this transcript. All I know is that Leroux was a friend of my husband's grandfather, based on several old pictures I've discovered around the house." She reached over and took the book from Dianna. Flipping to the back cover, she opened it, and pulled out several photos. Each had the same two men in them, in a variety of activities, from hunting excursions to simply posing.

"This one here," Ramsey pointed out, "is Leroux."

Dianna studied the photo more closely. He was a jovial looking man, his chubby face decorated with pince-nez spectacles. The son of Christine Daae, however, was a serious looking fellow. In neither of the photos was he smiling, and his face had a sort of gaunt look about him. Flipping the picture over, Dianna saw that the words, "Gaston and Jean-Pierre, 1908."

"It must have been Jean-Pierre who told Leroux of his mother's past," Ramsey said. "In turn, Leroux, obviously fascinated by what he heard, and already being an establish novelist, decided to turn it into a novel. Christine herself must have gotten a hold of the novel, and condemned its publication."

"But how did the second novel get published then? She must have still been alive at the time the public got a hold of it. Why allow that version to be published and not this one?" Dianna asked.

"I'm not sure. Perhaps he made enough factual changes, such as names and events, that she let it go. It's this book, however," he said, pointing to the manuscript, "that will prove Christine was indeed Ekaterina Alexandrovna Romanov, Grand Duchess of Imperial Russia. If we, with your permission Mme Chagny, may read it, perhaps more of our questions will be answered." Ramsey looked to the old woman hopefully. He held the book rather tightly in his fist, and Dianna guessed that he would find a way to read it even if Mme Chagny said no.

Fortunately, that was not the case. Smiling, the old woman stood from her chair, and leaned on her beautiful cane. "Of course you may, my dears. It is time the truth is discovered."

Ramsey and Dianna both stood to thank her profusely, and after, Mme Chagny declared that she was going to retire to her room for the evening. Before leaving, she offered accommodations for them for the night, telling them that she would inform the staff of this. She joked that she had not had visitors in quite a while, and that it would be a delightful privilege if they stayed. They both nodded eagerly, knowing that it meant they could take their time and pour over everything that the estate had to offer.

When Mme Chagny finally left the room, Dianna and Ramsey plopped back down on the couch beside each other, and Ramsey flipped open the cover of the book.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yes."

Both leaned in, and began reading.

---------------------------------------------------

Russia 1854

The screams were almost too much to bear. Throughout the night the wails echoed through the halls like ransacking banshees. The staff only quickened their pace if they were forced near the room where the sounds of torture emanated. They would bow their heads and lower their eyes, inwardly wincing at the horrible sounds coming from within the room.

Several times, maids had to be brought in with fresh towels and the guards were sickened when those same women left with heaps of others, soiled with blood. It had not been a fortunate day when the guards were ordered to their posts. Yuri and Lev groaned to each other when they picked up their orders at the beginning of their shifts. Guard the Tsarina's chambers.

She had been in labour for over ten hours now, and everyone, including the Tsar, were exhausted. With every exertion the woman gave to help bring a new life into the world, the further she sank into utter depression and abandonment. She cursed the day when her husband told her that she must keep the child. She had sought the help of several highly respected physicians to see if she could be rid of her embarrassment, but she was too far along and the risks were too high. She was nearly thirty years of age, which was risky enough to be delivering a baby, but to try and end the pregnancy at the time she had wanted would be far too dangerous.

A final, sobbing wail echoed against the marble walls, and then all was silent. Yuri and Lev worriedly glanced to each other, the unknown weighing heavily on their shoulders. Was their Tsarina still alive? From the sound of it, the two men were convinced the woman had been murdered a thousand times over during the night. They recalled she had not made such a sound when giving birth to the Tsarevich. Although, that was nine long years ago, and their memory could have faded.

Suddenly the doors burst open, and busy nurses rushed out of the room, drenched in the Tsarina's blood and Lord knew what else. Before the door closed of its own accord, the two guards took a quick peak in. To their relief, the Tsarina was panting as a maid sopped the sweat of her brow. A tiny cry from the corner of the room alerted them to the presence of the Tsar's second child.

A nurse lifted her head away from the Tsarina to the door where the two young guards were peeping their heads in. Quickly and quietly, she scampered to the door, smiling at the two boys as she closed the door. Before it was completely shut, Yuri stuck his hand in the way.

"Forgive me, but we would like to celebrate the birth of the Tsar's child. Please, if you could, is it a boy or a girl?"

The nurse took a quick glance backward before leaning in closer to the guards. Whispering under her breath, the guard's faces grew more shocked they heard her words. When she was called back into the room, she hurriedly slammed the door in their faces, but not before she ordered them to keep what she had said a secret and to guard it with their lives.

The two guards were left speechless, realizing the amount of trouble it could bring if this news was made to the public.

The child was not fathered by the Tsar.


	7. Chapter 7

Dianna and Ramsey had been reading for about half an hour when she sat back against the couch and rubbed her eyes. The lighting in the room was very low, and it was tiring her eyes out. They had learned in the following chapters that Gustav Daae and the Tsarina did have a love affair, which resulted in the birth of the child. Yet, they hadn't stopped reading. Ramsey had gotten his answers; he had been shown by Leroux that Christine Daae was indeed of royal birth, but when Dianna started to mention to him that they stop reading, she could tell that he was enthralled with the story, so she didn't say anything.

She had to admit that she was getting into the story as well. She hadn't read the published Leroux story, but from her knowledge of the movie, she felt a sort of connection with these people, and now that she knew they had actually existed, she wanted to learn the truth about them.

Ramsey looked over at her, seeing her rubbing her eyes. He picked up one of the photos from the table and used it as a bookmark in the story. He set the book on the table, and leaned back beside her.

"So," he began. "What do you think?"

"What I can't get over is the fact that the answers we've been searching for only about six hours have turned up in the first couple of chapters of a story. It seems rather futile, don't you think?"

"It took me longer than you think to get to this point. It doesn't seem futile to me."

"I know, maybe it just feels that way for me."

He turned onto his side, facing her. She turned her head so she could see his face. He closed his eyes for a brief second, and then opened them again to look her in the eyes.

"You know that there's much more to this, don't you?" he said, barely above a whisper.

Dianna frowned.

"What do you mean? You've got your answers. You've got proof that Christine Daae was the daughter of Tsarina Maria, half sister to Alexander III."

"But who's going to believe that? All we have is proof that a man who writes fiction novels has given one of his characters royal blood. We need more than that. I mean, why was her name changed from Ekaterina to Christine? What happened in her life that made her disallow the truth to be fictionalized? Does that all pertain to her lineage?"

Dianna faced forward again and pondered those things. She could see how the information that they had so far would be shunned from the academic world, but for her, just the privilege of knowing the truth was good enough for her. But why wasn't it good enough for him? What did he have to prove?

"You know," Dianna started. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you."

Ramsey slipped further down into the couch, resting his hands behind his head. "What's that?"

"Why do they call you Ramsey? Why not your first name?"

He chuckled softly beside her.

"How would you like the name Arthur? Makes me sound seventy years old. Everyone, since I was a boy, has simply called me Ramsey. Except my mother, of course."

"You know, I have to admit, in class I always thought you were somewhat of a bumbling old fool of a professor. You know, the type that wears tacky vests with red bow ties and tweed jackets."

"Are you very disappointed?" he asked softly.

"No," she yawned. "It was a pleasant surprise to find out that there's more to you."

She could feel her eyes closing. The room was comfortably warm with the fire in the hearth blazing away healthily. It had been a long day, full of twists and turns, and she had yet to recover fully from her jet lag. She snuggled deeper into the couch, and soon drifted off to sleep, dreaming of duchesses and masked men.

-------------------------------------------

She had fallen asleep. Not that he could blame her, Ramsey thought. It had been a big day. First stretching his limbs as best as he could, he then stood and sought out a cover for her. It was warm in the room, but if she was anything like him, the comfort of a blanket was always appreciated. Looking around, he saw that there was a knitted throw resting on the back of another couch. He walked over, shook out the blanket, and draped it over her small body. He took a step back, and noticed that she was not settled in the most comfortable of positions. She'd be sore when she woke up, he decided. He gently took her legs and shifted them up onto the couch where he had been sitting, careful not to jostle her. She might get the wrong idea if she woke and saw what he was doing.

Satisfied, he picked up the book from the table, and settled in the chair that Madame Chagny had been sitting in. Before he opened it, he glanced once more over at Dianna. She still had her ball cap on, but he dared not take it off for her. That was crossing some sort of boundary. He didn't know why he felt such an affinity towards her. Perhaps she reminded him of himself at that age. But it was more than that. Her desire to learn was indeed a quality he found attractive, but he couldn't put his finger on what else there was to it.

She shifted in her sleep, throwing her arm over her head as she settled on her back. She began to snore softly. He laughed to himself, knowing that she would become very upset if she knew he had caught her snoring. Most women refused to acknowledge that snoring was a very normal thing, assigning it as a pastime only experienced by men. He found it rather endearing a quality. He always found that you could learn the most about a person by watching them sleep. The walls a person puts up while conscious are breached, and the real person he or she is emerges.

He took Dianna to be mature for her age. He took her to be about twenty-two or twenty-three, nearing the finish of her undergraduate work. It was about that same time for him when he became interested in learning things on his own, not just doing research for topics assigned to him. Maybe she experienced the same thing.

Their conversation in the car suddenly came back to haunt him. She had asked him why he had hired her. He had had no decent answer for her. He remembered a strange feeling in his stomach when he tried to answer, and to quench it, he simply offered half of the answer. He knew that he couldn't tell her that he was attracted to her. Hell, he was ten years her senior. She would probably think he was a creep. Besides, other than a few trysts not worth mentioning, he really wasn't experienced in the field of dating. It wasn't the proper timing anyway.

Resolving himself, he pushed the issue from his mind, and tried to drown out the little noises Dianna made in her sleep. He opened the book at the bookmark, making up his mind to continue on reading. He could fill Dianna in on the details in the morning. Settling the book comfortably on his lap, he began reading.

--------------------------------------------------

Without a word, a tiny bundle was thrust into Gustav's arms. Catching a glance from the nursemaid that he couldn't translate, Gustav ignored her and peered down at the tiny bundle. Shuffling the blankets around, he stared down at the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Even at this age, she had dark hair, just like his own. She was sleeping peacefully in his arms, and at that moment he fell in love with the little girl he had only just met.

Spinning around to the nursemaid, who was marching away from him down the hall, he shouted at her back.

"What is her name?"

"Ekaterina!" The foul woman called out, not even bothering to turn as she did so.

Ekaterina.

Blessed and Pure.

No name could better describe his little daughter.

Snuggling her closer to his body for warmth, he looked about. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now, but his better judgment told him to leave the palace as soon as he could. Yet, he didn't want to leave without saying goodbye to Maria.

Cautiously, he made his way down the hall from where the nursemaid had come. Ekaterina gurgled in her sleep. Gustav smiled inwardly and covered her tiny face again with the blanket to protect her from the bright light in the hall.

When he reached Maria's chambers, he was forced to stop by two rather large guards. The biggest one, stationed to the right of the door, stepped forward.

"I'm sorry, but you may not enter."

"Please, I only wish to say goodbye. And to let Maria say goodbye to Ekaterina."

"Who?" the guard asked.

"Her daughter." Gustav said pointedly. He wondered how far he would get if he just barged in through the doors. He had a baby in his arms, what harm would they really do?

Instead, the guard's eyes widened into a look of dumbfoundedness and he shuffled on his feet.

"You mean to tell me that," he pointed to the bundle, "_that_ is the Tsarina's daughter?"

"Yes it is. Now, will you let me pass? One of you can accompany me if you wish."

Gustav waited patiently as the guards discussed his entry. After what seemed like minutes, they finally nodded and opened the door for him. Gustav wasn't surprised when the big guard followed him in and waited at the door.

The room was dark; the only illumination came from a small candle in the corner. He could hear Maria snoring softly in her bed. He followed the sounds until he reached the side of her bed.

"Maria?" he whispered.

No response.

"Maria," he said louder, "I've come to say goodbye."

The Tsarina stirred, and blinking her eyes, focused on the man standing above her.

"Gustav?"

"Yes, my love."

"Is – is that…her?" She sat up, wincing in pain. She was still too weak to get out of bed, so she motioned for Gustav to sit down next to her. He did as she requested.

"Yes. She's beautiful, Maria. Just like her mother." Gustav said, affectionately.

He could hear her weep.

"They wouldn't let me hold her. They said I had to name her, and after I had, a nursemaid took her. Oh, Gustav! How can I give up my child?" Maria covered her face with her hands, softly crying for the child she knew she had to give up.

Adjusting himself, he slid closer to her, and wrapped her in a tight embrace. Little Ekaterina let out a squeak of protest, and Gustav backed out of the hug slightly so he wouldn't hurt the baby. After he released Maria, he gently placed the little girl in her arms. She intimately placed the infant close to her body, and began rocking her back and forth.

After a while, Maria looked up, tears still glistening in her eyes.

"Gustav, before you go, make sure you get the bottles of breast milk they made me fill. There isn't a lot there, maybe only enough for two or three days at most, but it'll have to do until you can find something else for her."

"Don't worry, my love," he whispered, "I won't forget."

Gustav felt a tap on his shoulder, and when he turned around, the burly guard was motioning to him that it was time to go. Nodding sadly, he took the baby from Maria's arms, and leaned in to give her a last kiss. Her lips were salty from her tears, and he had a hard time restraining his own. Finally parting from her, he turned and walked toward the door.

"Gustav?" Maria called out.

He turned.

"Yes?"

"Please make sure she knows her mother will always love her."

He smiled gently.

"I will tell her everyday."

"Gustav?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

His tears finally broke through. Unable to respond to her through his soft sobs, he simply nodded and rushed out of the room with little Ekaterina in his arms.


	8. Chapter 8

For as long as she could remember, Ekaterina had traveled across Europe with her father, never settling in one place too long. Her father had brought his violin with him, making ends meet playing anywhere he could. She often asked her father to teach her to play, and after he finally relented, he had told her that she must be blessed by the Angel of Music, just like he was. Ekaterina liked the thought of sharing that with her father.

They were currently in a small Swedish town on the coast, where her father had said he was born. He had told her that something had called him back to this place, where he had been raised, and Ekaterina didn't complain. She liked the quaint little town. It was perched on the edge of the sea, and the faint aroma of fish floated perpetually through the air. Ekaterina was surprised when some of the villagers remembered Gustav from his younger days, taking an instant shine toward his little daughter. They often spoiled her when she walked passed the little shops, and some would ask her to sing for them. Her father had spread the word that his daughter was a beautiful singer, as well as violinist.

The biggest surprise Ekaterina encountered was her father's best friend, Erik. Gustav had never mentioned him before, perhaps assuming that he had moved on from the little town. Apparently, the two had been friends since they were boys and had studied music together. They hardly left each other's side these days, practicing on their violins, hoping that word would get out of a world-class violin duo.

Currently, the two men were inside the house practicing, and Ekaterina could hear the beautiful duet from where she was outside in the garden. Every time she heard the lyrical strains of the music floating in the air, she would imagine grand balls with beautiful ladies in swirling dresses, and handsome gentlemen accompanying them to the latest waltz.

In the distance, Ekaterina could hear a carriage approaching the little house. Sitting up from under the lazy shade of the big oak tree she lay under, she stood and peered out past the garden fence, hoping to get a glimpse of it. Unable to see anything, she walked around to the front of the house to investigate.

Shielding her eyes against the sun, she glanced down the long road and was surprised to see not one carriage but three. Who on earth was coming? Ekaterina wondered.

She decided to inform her father of the presence of the carriages, even though he didn't like to be interrupted when he practiced. But, he also didn't like company to arrive unannounced. She decided that this was the lesser of two evils.

Running inside, she found Gustav and his friend in the parlour, each bowing the melody in perfect unison. The beauty of such a thing overtook her: two violins sounding as one. She hated to stop them, but she knew she must.

"Father?" She said, barely above a whisper.

Abruptly, the music stopped.

Her father lowered the violin from his chin to his side, and gave her an exasperated look. Erik merely set his violin aside, not looking annoyed in the least. He actually smiled as she entered the room. Her cheeks flared red at this, and she immediately shifted her eyes to the floor to avoid his gaze.

"How many times have I told you not to interrupt me?"

Ekaterina's eyes flew back to her father's face, and she gulped. "I know father, I just thought you'd like to know that three carriages are approaching the house."

Gustav's eyes grew wide. "What?"

He set his violin down carefully and hurriedly made for the door. When he opened it, he too could see the carriages, only this time, they were at the end of their lane. Erik joined them at the door.

"Who are they?" he asked.

Gustav shook his head. "I don't know, but if they are who I think, I need you to take Ekaterina away from here right now."

Ekaterina was shocked at hearing this. Who could these people be? Why did he fear for her so?

"Father, what is going on?" she asked worriedly.

He wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder. "There's nothing to worry about, sweetheart, I just need you two to wait in the garden while I have a word with these people." Her father's voice sounded differently toward her than when he had spoken Erik. He was trying to reassure her, but she knew that he was concerned.

"Come along, Ekaterina, your father will get things sorted out." She felt Erik's hand rest on her shoulder, and she reluctantly moved away from the door. Her father removed his arm from around her and leaned heavily on the doorframe, as if expecting something dreadful to arrive with these people. Everything inside her was screaming not to leave him, yet the strong hand that had a hold on her was unrelenting as Erik led her away.

"Father, will you be all right?" she called back to him from the back door.

Her father's face conveyed the sadness he wouldn't let into his voice. "Of course, my darling. With the Angel of Music watching over us both, there's nothing to fear," he said, a half-hearted smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Ekaterina wanted to run back to her father and refuse to leave his side, but she knew that both he and Erik would stop her from doing so. Taking one last look back at Gustav, who seemed to have aged dramatically in only a few moments, Ekaterina blew a silent kiss in his direction, and then allowed Erik to lead her into the back garden.

The two of them took a seat on a marble bench that Gustav had had installed a month earlier. The carriages had arrived, and she could a mixture of male voices and soft whinnies from the tired horses. There was no knock on the door; they just walked in through the front of her house.

"What do you think is going on?" she asked Erik, huddling close to him. He wrapped his own arm around Ekaterina, trying to offer her some of the comfort her father had given her earlier.

"I have no idea, but whatever it is, there's nothing to worry about. It's probably a messenger from one of your father's patrons, requesting his services as musician."

"They've never come like this before, and I've never seen Father so frightened," she said, sharply.

He patted her hand in reassurance. "You don't have to worry, sweetheart. You father doesn't scare easy."

Ekaterina tried to take his words to heart. It was true, her father was the bravest man she knew, but there was something about it all that made her uneasy.

Suddenly, the voices in the house grew louder and angrier. Ekaterina could hear her father yelling at the men in the house, but she couldn't understand the muffled words. She stood up from the bench, and had every intention of going into the house herself to tell the men to leave, but Erik grabbed her arm, and forced her to sit back down.

"This isn't your fight, sweetheart. You have to let him handle it himself."

Ekaterina nodded, close to tears. She hated every second of this.

With a crash, the front door of her home burst open, and she could hear angry curses flying through the air. Before he could grab her arm again, Ekaterina flew around the side to the front of the house, just in time to see four men shoving Gustav into the back of one of the carriages.

"Father!"

Gustav, with a resigned look on his face, looked up at her, giving her the smallest of smiles. She started to run to the carriages, but several men held her back. She fought as hard as she could against them, trying to get to her father, but it was no use. They shoved her to the ground, and got into their own carriages.

Erik, finally catching up to her, helped her to her feet, and held her in his arms as she cried for her father. The carriages began moving, and she looked up only once when Gustav shouted something out to them.

"Russia! They're taking me back to Russia!"

She looked up at the man holding her, seeing him nod his head in understanding.

"Why are they taking him to Russia? We've never been there," she said amongst her sobs.

"Yes you have, sweetheart, but you were only a babe. I'm afraid that your father's secret has finally been learned."

"Secret? What secret? He has nothing to hide!"

"Oh, but he does. You're his secret," Erik said, sighing. "And now he will hang for it."


	9. Chapter 9

The wind had a brisk chill to it and the sky appeared overcast and solemn. A crowd had gathered in the square, packed closely together to avoid the cold. Some strained their necks to see over the heads of those in front of them, while some parents lifted their children onto their shoulders for a better look.

It was to be an eventful day indeed.

Imperial guards were posted around the little square in St. Petersburg, dressed in the traditional Cossack uniform. The people were very careful to avoid any confrontation with the guards, their ruthless reputation preceding them.

A man appeared on a platform at the front of the square and raised his hands to quiet the crowd. Ekaterina pushed through as many people as she could to get to the front, so she could see him better. Erik, who was being pulled along with Ekaterina, pardoned himself to those he passed. When they finally reached the front, he lifted the little girl into his arms. This would be the hardest day of Ekaterina's life, and he wanted to console her as best as he could.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the man on the platform began. "Today, here in the great city of St. Petersburg, a man has been judged before the Imperial court of Russia, and by All Mighty God. He has been found guilty of treason against our great land, and will be punished accordingly. I ask you, in your reserve, to hold your applause until after."

Ekaterina looked from the man to Erik. "Applause? What are they applauding?"

Erik steeled his eyes toward the man on the platform, a thinly veiled look of disgust appearing on his face. "To them, this is a celebration."

"But I don't-"

Suddenly, whispers and gasps were issued from the crowd. Erik looked over at one of the doors guarded by two Cossacks and saw his best friend being pulled out of the doorway and shoved toward the platform. Gustav looked no worse for wear, but Erik could see the look of sad acceptance on his face. Erik squeezed Ekaterina harder in his arms, pointing out her father to her.

She started squirming, trying to get out of his arms.

"Father! Father!" Erik's heart broke as she started wailing for man who had raised her. Gustav looked in the direction of her voice, and started crying when he saw his little girl.

Erik could no longer hold the girl in his arms, and when he released her, she bolted for Gustav. The crowd gasped as they saw the little girl climb the platform and wrapped her little arms around the man convicted of treason. A whisper began running through the crowd as they all saw the girl, and Erik felt his stomach drop when he himself heard what was being said.

She was the spitting image of the Tsarina.

Erik ran out onto the platform and pulled Ekaterina from her father's embrace. Gustav looked to him with tears in his eyes, and gave him a final nod, as if to say that he was prepared to die. Erik coached the screaming girl away from her father and held his hand up to the approaching guards.

"I've got her. You need not do anything."

"Sir, we've come to inform you that the Tsarina herself would like a word with you and the girl after the sentencing."

Erik stopped and looked at the guards. He could see that they also saw a familiarity in Ekaterina's face, but retained their professional stance. Erik looked back to the platform, and saw that Gustav was being fitted with the rope. Ekaterina had stopped her screams, but was now weeping silently beside him.

He made a decision.

"Let us go now. No child should see her father die."

Two of the guards looked at each other, nodding to one another. They started walking toward the entrance Gustav had emerged out of, and Erik, holding Ekaterina's hand, followed them.

As he reached the entrance, Erik heard the trap door opening beneath Gustav's feet and then wild cheers from the crowd. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he squeezed the little girl's hand and continued through the door.

-------------------------------------

They were led into a fairly large room decorated in soft shades and fabrics. Erik had expected members of the court to be present, perhaps even the Tsar himself, but such wasn't so. Instead, he saw the Tsarina, seated in a plush chair with two Cossacks guarding the room from afar. The guards that had led Erik and Ekaterina in motioned for them to take a seat on a sofa opposite the Empress. Nodding his thanks, he took his seat and placed the little girl on his lap.

When he looked into the face of the Tsarina, he saw only pain. She had not yet reached her thirty-fifth birthday, but she seemed much older than that. He noticed that she had not removed her eyes from Ekaterina since they had entered the room, and although he felt a certain pity for the woman, he was overcome with grief for his now departed friend.

After a while, the Tsarina lifted her eyes from the little girl and placed them on Erik.

"Thank you for bringing her to me," she said softly.

"There wasn't much of a choice, was there?"

"You would have kept me from seeing her?" the Tsarina asked, brows raised.

"With all due respect, Highness, this is the last place I would want her to be right now. She belongs with her father, but you have taken him away from her." There was an edge in his voice that not only surprised the Tsarina, but himself as well.

"Please understand," the Tsarina began. "Gustav was a very special person to me. I would have done anything for him, but in the end it was he that saved my life. You see, my husband wanted to see me hang alongside him today, but Gustav sacrificed his honour, and his life, to save mine. I owe him my life, and I intend to thank him for it by seeing that his daughter – our daughter – has a good life."

Erik sat quietly as he contemplated her words. Gustav took the fall for her. He died alone because of an indiscretion both of them had committed. The thought of it raged through him, but it diminished when he realized that it wasn't unexpected. Gustav would've – and had – died for those he loved.

"Let me tell you about Gustav and I, Mr. –"

"Call me Erik."

The Empress nodded.

"It wasn't something that either of us had expected to happen…"

-----------------------------------

The grand ballroom of Tsarskoe Selo was lit with thousands of candles fitted into the many exquisite crystal chandeliers. The subtle shadows in the room were constantly in motion as the royal family as their privileged guests joined one another in traditional dances that had existed for generations. The women were dressed in beautiful flowing gowns that ranged from the ostentatiously designed fabrics with jewels encrusted in the stitching to the plainer, yet still quite beautiful as they swirled against the marble floors.

Men wore traditional attire that suited the occasion. Those who held high positions in the military wore their dress uniforms, and many of the younger women swooned when offered the chance to dance with the distinguished men. None in the room, however, could match the beauty of the Tsarina, Maria Alexandrovna of Hessen.

She sat at the end of the ballroom in her throne, next to her husband, watching her guests dance with delight. Not many were offered the chance to take part in one of Tsarskoe Selo's royal balls, and as she looked down on the swirling people in front of her, she made mental notes of who to invite again, and who would not be as fortunate.

The Tsar was constantly nodding his head to those who stopped to bow in front of him. Maria was secretly amazed at his poise. It had already been a long night, and they still had many hours of festivities left in the evening. It was the traditional Christmas ball and she recalled from past years that the dancing would not end until well after midnight. Sighing, she shifted in her seat, and adjusted the skirt of her dress.

She was beginning to get bored, and longed to dance with her husband, but she knew he detested it. He would only dance the very first and last dances with her, and then sat the rest of the evening. She was resigned to the same fate. Lately, she had begun playing a game with herself. She would block out everything around her, including the marvelous dancers and the many conversations in the ballroom and focus entirely on the rich music that came from the orchestra. She would then picture a story to go along with the music. She had never told anyone about her little game, she was quite embarrassed by it. Being the Tsarina of all Russia, she had quite a bit of responsibility and being caught in a fairy world would not reflect kindly upon her when the real world required so much of her attention.

Smiling, she pleasantly nodded to a couple that had stopped dancing to pay homage to the royal couple. Alexander took her right hand in his, and gently kissed it, as if assuring her that the night would be soon over, and then she could retire to check on their young son.

Squeezing his hand, she acknowledged him, and turned back to the crowd. The dancers had stopped dancing and were now only standing and listening to the orchestra. It was a violin solo. Maria had never heard the song before, but its beauty was unmatched. She closed her eyes and drifted away to a land filled with heartache and sorrow. The notes sounded of pain, of loneliness. She pictured a lover who had lost his love. The music floated all around her, wrapping her in the sweet timbre of the violin. When it finally stopped, Maria had tears in her eyes. She had seen the devastated lover so vividly.

Dabbing her eyes meticulously, she leaned over and whispered to her husband. After a moment of pondering, the Tsar nodded, and Maria rose from her seat. The people had turned from the musicians to her, all of their eyes following her as she crossed the room.

As she approached the orchestra, she sought among the faces who the masterful player of the haunting piece was. When she questioned the conductor, he humbly pointed out to the man in first violin position, directly to her left. The man stood, and bowed before her. After touching his head with her gloved hands, the man stood once more and looked into her eyes.

Maria was startled by what she saw there. The loneliness he had played came from his sole, not the music on the paper. The man in her vision was him.

Regaining her composure, she managed to offer him a smile.

"That was quite beautiful. Tell me, who is the composer?"

"The composer is I, Your Majesty," the man replied, his eyes never leaving hers.

"And what is your name?" she inquired, feeling rather uncomfortable under his gaze. She was not used to this feeling, normally she was the one who made others uncomfortable.

"My name, Majesty, is Gustav Daae."


End file.
